


modern art

by we_are_inevitable



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Major Depressive Episode, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Addiction, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, This Author Is Projecting!, but actually, but it all takes place years before the fic takes place, me? projecting? totally not, past suicidal tendencies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_inevitable/pseuds/we_are_inevitable
Summary: Fifteen year old Jack dreamed of finding his soulmate one day. But now, twenty-five year old Jack is losing hope. That’s horrible of him, and he knows it.Right now, though… Jack can’t even work up the courage, the energy, to call his mom.His soulmate, whoever they are, is going to have to wait.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 21
Kudos: 38





	1. 'cause lately it's been hard

**Author's Note:**

> FULL disclosure: this is a reuploaded fic, BUT i've changed a lot of the wordage and added in more details and angst potential- plus, the ending is completely different, hence why it is now two chapters instead of just a one shot!!
> 
> this was always my favorite fic, and revisiting it is giving me so so much serotonin. i love it, i hope you guys love it, and if you DO, let me know what you think !!

Jack doesn't know what’s going on with himself, but he knows that he could really use his soulmate right about now.

They’ve communicated before. Never verbally, and never enough to reveal who they were. Perhaps they are both just... dealing with some unspoken fears, dealing with the worry of rejection sitting heavy in their chests. Perhaps they both like this mystery- the uncertainty that came with the notes scrawled across their bodies in a handwriting that isn’t their own.

Or perhaps they just aren’t ready to take the plunge. To grow up and face the harsh fact that, as soon as they meet, wherever and whenever that may be, a new chapter of their life will unfold. Consume them. Change anything and everything they’ve ever known or held dear.

They had been braver when they were children, that much was true. Jack remembers staying up late often, writing notes on his skin and watching in awe as the replies appeared. He remembers the giddy rush of trying to quickly wash off the ink on his wrist when they ran out of space to talk, and, _oh,_ how they talked. There were school days when Jack would go to class exhausted, feeling like he’d been walking through quicksand for miles on end, but all of it had been worth it. The exhaustion he felt had been worth being able to talk to them until two, three, four in the morning. Sometimes he regretted it, of course, but only because it was harder for him to focus in class. Never because he was upset at them.

He could _never_ be upset with them.

Even now, Jack remembers a lot about his soulmate. They liked music. They knew how to play the piano. They were into a few video games, even some that Jack had never played, and said that they always tried carrying a book with them wherever they went. Jack remembers that, as a younger kid, they liked Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but also liked analyzing Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe and a bunch of other fancy authors that Jack had never even _heard_ of. They were intimidatingly smart, and sometimes, would carefully correct Jack’s grammar whenever he misspelled a word or something- but they were never mean about it, they were just… there. A steady presence that he could count on.

Fifteen year old Jack dreamed of finding them one day. But now, twenty-five year old Jack is losing hope.

He can’t exactly help it. For starters, he and his soulmate haven’t communicated in… well, shit, it had to be nearly a year. Maybe nine months or so, but there’s no way to tell for sure, and even then, their conversations since reaching adulthood have been dull, for lack of a better word. A few positive comments here, a ‘have a good day’ there- it’s all so mundane, and neither of them can be blamed for it. They both have busy lives- or, well, Jack does, at least. His job as a graphic designer is hard enough on its own, but the added pressure of doing freelance work and commissions on the side has been eating away at him for weeks, coupled with debilitating self-doubt and lack of motivation for… anything.

Saying that he’s overwhelmed is the understatement of the century. 

There is always another design, another client, another meeting, another deadline, another sleepless night as he stares at a blank canvas and prays for a _spark_ of inspiration from whatever God is listening. Usually his inspiration comes from the world around him- his friends, city life, even the quiet confines of his apartment, but right now... Jack is stuck. He had holed himself up in his room days ago, trying and failing to get out of bed every morning when the time came to work- and thank God that the majority of his work could be done from home. His boss was understanding, too, to an extent. 

Still, though, there’s a constant heavy weight on his chest that prevents him from moving most days, and he’s lucky if he even gets up long enough to shower or eat or do literally _anything_ aside from lie in silence and count the cracks in his ceiling.

Nothing had happened to him recently to bring this on, from what he can tell. Jack has always been the happy-go-lucky leader, the man with a plan, the guy who always knew just what to say to motivate others into doing the best thing for themselves, but when that responsibility is reflected back onto himself, Jack feels helpless. There are words waiting to be said, sketches waiting to be drawn, designs waiting to be sent to clients… yet Jack lies there, motionless in his room for three days before he even has the energy, the willpower, to pull back his curtains and allow the sunlight to shine through. There is so much he wants to do, so much he needs to do, but he can't bring himself to do any of it.

In all twenty-five years of his life, through all of the things he’s been through, the ups and downs and foster homes and graduations and birthdays and funerals and therapists and rehab facilities and whatever the _fuck_ else life decided to throw at him, Jack has never felt so worthless, so… lonely. His closest friends are all moving on with their lives. Many have already found their soulmate, have settled down and hidden their rowdy, rambunctious pasts behind skeletons in a closet. They’d all gotten their adventures done and over with in high school and college, and most are moving onto bigger and better things in life. They have careers. Families. Some have children, others have pets, a few have an insane amount of plants to care for.

All have seemingly left Jack behind in the dust.

No one told him when to flip the switch.

No one told him when he had aged out of adventure.

Now, they would never say it, but Jack knows. He knows. Saturday hangouts and trips to the bar had been replaced by Sunday church services and playdates for the kids. Rather than hearing yelling from his living room after his friends had all been teetering just on the edge between tipsy and fucked up, Jack hears the news, and documentaries, and podcasts, and the ghosts of a past life that he still seemed to be desperately clinging on to.

Katherine had been the one to tell him that he needed to grow up, though she didn’t put it in such a blunt manner. No, she’s just.... gently urging him to find a bigger apartment, or buy matching furniture from a place that is _not_ a thrift store, or purchase dishes that weren’t of the plastic Walmart brand. She says it was because she wants to see him in a more professional, "adulty" lifestyle, but he knows it’s really because she can see that he’s a mess.

Deep down, Jack knows she’s right. She’s always right. 

He just can’t help but feel cemented in place, dreaming of the past while dreading the new future ahead of him.

Jack never asked to feel so broken for no reason. All of the hope and optimism he had felt as a teenager was gone, lost in a sea of uncertain plans and shitty jobs and bill extensions and canvases dropped onto the floor with no rhyme or reason. And, yes, maybe Jack would look dramatic to someone who didn’t know his situation, but Jack _knows_ what dramatic feels like. Dramatic feels like watching his best friend, Charlie, belt onstage in front of a backdrop that _he_ helped create for the school play. Dramatic feels like laughing at the top of his lungs while walking through a random gas station at two in the morning, joined by Race and Al, all while higher than a kite. Dramatic feels like driving to the outskirts of the city with Katherine, climbing onto the roof of an old building and screaming about all of their stress, their anxiety, their insecurities, just to have _some_ form of emotional release.

Dramatic doesn’t feel like sadness. It’s not supposed to.

Not for Jack.

He had been so… so happy, as a teenager. Proud and defiant and carefree. He was the kind of guy to skate and smoke weed in Central Park until midnight and take a math test at eight in the morning the next day. He was the kid who stood on a table in the cafeteria and came out as bisexual to everyone around him, just because of a dumbass bet that he didn’t even get paid for. He was the boy who wasn’t at all good in an academic sense, but who always knew how to talk himself out of trouble, who always came up with the most ridiculous- _or_ most believable- lies to cover his ass when he needed it, who was always the class favorite, the teacher’s pet without meaning to be.

Jack had felt on top of the world back then, but now he’s struggling to even get off of the ground. The longer time goes on, the more lost Jack feels inside his own life. He feels like something was missing, something big. Something bigger than himself.

When his mother was alive, which now felt like lifetimes ago, she would often echo this old wives’ tale about how it’s best to find your soulmate while you’re younger, just to save them- and yourself- the pain of being alone for a long time. Jack had always kind of believed her; logically, he knew it was true, but he had always told himself that it wouldn’t happen to him. That he would be fine alone, though it wouldn’t be ideal, and that he would have plenty of time for soulmates after he got out and made a name for himself.

He’s starting to think, though, that maybe she was right. Maybe Jack had waited too long to make a move, to make contact again, because now, he just feels nauseous even thinking about it.

Don’t get him wrong, he knows the negative effects of self deprecation and not taking his own mental health seriously, he’s been to rehab before, blah, blah, blah, but, fuck, how could he put his soulmate through something like this? This fucked up state of mind he has now. Jack can’t even imagine talking to Katherine about this, and Katherine had been his best friend for over a decade. He can’t just meet his soulmate now- it’s been too long, he’s too messed up, they won’t like him, they’ll hate him for not trying hard enough, and Jack will just end up alone again, wasting away in his bedroom because no one fucking cares. No one cares. He has _nobody._

That’s not true. He has Medda, his mom, his savior, his impulse control, but the thought of telling her that everything is acting up again makes him want to scream. He has Tony, but Tony has Al, and Tony and Al have a kid- a sweet little five year old girl who calls Jack ‘Uncle Jackie’ and takes no shit from anyone. He has Katherine, but Katherine has her soulmate- this dude named Darcy, who Jack doesn’t have much of an opinion on because they just met, like, a month ago, and Jack hasn’t exactly been emotionally ready for a hangout session between the three of them. He also has Charlie, and Charlie has certainly seen him in worse times- like when Jack was _kind of_ hooked on pills for the entirety their freshman year of college- but Charlie has grad school to worry about and Charlie would hate him if he bothered him with this.

Still, there are other people who would listen, probably. He could easily talk to Elmer, or Romeo, or Specs, or Jojo or Finch or Sean or a _fucking therapist_ but that’s just it, isn’t it? If he talks, he burdens, and Jack Francisco Kelly would rather run himself into the ground than be a burden anyone.

So, he makes a vow.

He makes eye contact with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s gripping onto the sink, holding on for dear life, as he stares into his own sunken eyes. He takes in his appearance. Damp, messy hair, falling down to cover his forehead. Pale skin, which isn’t normal at all. Dark circles have taken their place around his eyes, and his smile- one of his favorite things about himself- is… nonexistent.

Distantly, Jack registers himself dumping a full bottle of ibuprofen into the sink. And then, he does the same thing with the bottle of melatonin from his medicine cabinet. The valium follows. He lets the water run for a long time. It's not that he doesn't trust himself- he'd done so, so good in rehab, and he doesn't even feel urges that often anymore- but it's better safe than sorry, especially since he's like... _this._

This is not the Jack Kelly he’s used to anymore. This is not the Jack Kelly he wants to be.

But this Jack Kelly is the one who vows not to reach out. The one who vows to only answer when his soulmate is ready, and maybe not even then.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though.

Not when a heart appears on the back of his hand the next morning.

It’s there when Jack wakes up, and, honestly, it almost brings Jack to tears- but not necessarily for happy reasons. Sure, Jack wants to be happy. Who wouldn’t be happy after seeing something like this? A lopsided heart drawn in red ink, right on the back of his left hand- it was the definition of a symbol, of a romantic gesture, and Jack wants so badly to write back, to strike up conversation, _to draw a goddamn heart,_ but… he can’t.

He can’t, and that’s horrible of him, and he knows it.

Right now, though… Jack can’t even work up the courage, the energy, to call his _mom._

His soulmate, whoever they are, is going to have to wait.


	2. they're selling me for parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack lies down under the blankets and catches his breath, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment, before sitting back up to discard his hoodie. He stretches his arms out, and that’s when he sees it.
> 
> There, on his wrist, in red ink, is a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you saw me accidentally upload this chapter and delete it again then No U Didnt)

It becomes harder to ignore as the day drags on.

He can practically feel that damn heart burning into his skin. He’s so acutely aware of the red marking on his hand and, yeah, okay, maybe he does go a little stir crazy for a moment, and maybe spending ten minutes trying to wash it off only leaves him with hot, frustrated tears streaming down his face, but what else is there to do? He can’t get rid of it. Not unless he writes back and physically tells his soulmate to wash it off, to _please just stop trying_ for a few more days, but Jack can’t do that, because then he’ll be an even bigger asshole than he already feels like he is.

Now, Jack has done a lot of things that could potentially classify himself as an asshole. For starters, well, maybe overdosing takes the cake, but again, that was seven years ago, and he’s clean, he’s been clean for a long time, he’s been fine and been good and he knows he’s not going to do anything drastic. He knows his limits. He knows what he should and should not do when he feels an urge. That’s not the problem.

No, the problem is that now, Jack can’t stop obsessing over the fact that, yes, he’s an asshole, and no, this is not the first time he’s been one.

Eighth grade. Jack pushes kid in his grade for making fun of the fact that his mom was dead. Kid falls on his arm. Kid breaks his arm. Kid calls Jack an asshole.

Ninth grade. Jack makes fun of girl who does not want to dissect a frog in biology. Jack gracefully puts a dissected heart of said frog onto girl’s work station. Girl calls Jack an asshole.

Tenth grade. Jack has a bad episode. Jack goes off on Charlie for trying to help. Charlie calls Jack an asshole.

Eleventh. Jack does something to Katherine. Katherine calls Jack an asshole.

Twelfth. Everyone thinks Jack is an asshole.

Whether they say it or not is, unfortunately, not up to Jack.

It isn’t like they said it explicitly, but Jack can tell now. Looking back, he sees it. He sees it clear as day. All of the stares he got while laughing in the hallway. All of the glares he received for cracking jokes in class. All of the people who avoided him in the courtyard because he was stupid and brought his ukulele, or his sketchbook, or his speaker, or something that was supposed to be _fun._

Logically, Jack knows he’s overreacting and that no one actually thought that way about him, but what if they did? What if no one liked him? Ever? What if his friends hated him? What if they’re all out, together, having fun while he’s stuck in his goddamn room because he’s acting like a _fucking child--_

He screams as a glass shatters at his feet.

There are a few long moments of silence after that, aside from his rapid breathing. It all comes back to him then- he’s in his kitchen, he was going to get water, he grabbed the glass, he started thinking, and he… dropped the glass. Simple. He was just caught in his own head.

Simple? Not so much.

He backs away carefully, carefully, to avoid the glass on the floor. There’s some sort of long sidestep motion that follows as he grabs the broom and the dustpan and begins cleaning up his mess.

Cleaning up his mess…

Once the glass is disposed of, Jack hurries back to his bedroom. He all but collapses into bed, shaking his head as he grabs his phone from the bedside table, turning it on for the first time all day. Everything takes a few minutes to load back up- far away, there’s a voice in his head telling him he needs to get a new phone- but once it’s fully on, he’s suddenly bombarded with notification after notification. Instagram DMs, snapchats, emails, and texts, all which make his head spin, make him feel like he’s going to hurl.

He clears them all from his notification window and gulps as he clicks on his contacts, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, until he finds the number he needs.

Medda picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

Jack takes in a deep, shaky breath. He’s silent on the other end for a few long moments, before he slowly closes his eyes and grips the phone tighter. “Mama,” He whispers. His voice sounds wrecked. He hasn’t spoken to anyone in days, of course it does- but it sounds worse than it ever has. It’s like he went to a six hour concert and screamed every lyric at the top of his lungs. “Mama, it’s- it’s gettin’ bad again...”

“I’m comin’ over, okay, baby?”

“No, wait-- You- You don’t have to, I’m okay, I’m fine, I just--”

“Jack, I need you to tell me the truth, okay? Where are your pills?”

“...Down the sink.”

“Oh, honey…”

Jack winces at her tone. She doesn’t sound angry, or disappointed, but she does sound… upset. Sad, maybe. “I- I didn’t know what else to do, Mama.”

Medda sighs on the other line, and Jack can just imagine her now- looking at the ground, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes would be closed, and she probably looks so, so tired, and Jack feels even worse. “Jackie, I am _so_ proud of you, okay? And nothing will ever change that. You did good, sugar. Real good. Now, do you want me to come over, or would you feel more comfortable stayin’ here for a few days?”

“I’m fine on my own--”

“Jack, sweetie, you don’t sound fine. I’m your Mama, I know these things.”

“...It’s probably best if I stay over,” Jack decides a few moments later, but he doesn’t feel particularly good about saying it out loud. There’s part of him that hates himself for agreeing. He’s twenty-five, for fuck’s sake, he should be the one taking care of Medda; not the other way around. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves so much better than that.

But here she is, offering up her home, her time, her effort, just to take care of him.

Jack sniffs and wipes his eyes, which prompt a soft sigh from the other end of the call. “I’ll come get you, honey, okay? I don’t want you driving like this.”

“I-- I’ll pay gas money,” Jack whispers, and lets out a deep sigh, exhaustion settling heavy in his bones. He feels so, so tired after just one interaction, and it hasn’t even been five minutes. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in ten minutes, hun.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Jack.”

“Love you too, Mama,” Jack murmurs, and drops the phone as soon as he hears her hang up. He’s almost ashamed for her to see all of… this. His bedroom is a mess. His living room hasn’t been touched in days, which is good, but there are dirty dishes in the kitchen and the trash hasn’t been taken out in a few days and this is what he hates most. He hates that, when he gets like this, he can’t take care of himself, can’t remember to eat or drink water or shower regularly and he feels so, so disgusting. It’s not even that he doesn't remember; sometimes, he knows what he has to do, and he sees it every time he leaves his room, but he feels paralyzed. He can’t do the dishes or clean the counters or make food or take out the trash, and it makes him feel horrible, makes him feel worthless, makes him feel so _fucking_ useless. 

He can’t do this again. This can’t happen again.

He looks down at his hand, at the drawing on his skin, and gulps hard. He swallows around the lump in his throat and stands up, and by the time Medda arrives, he has a bag packed, ready to go, to get away from all of… this.

Jack’s in the living room when she walks in, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting in the palm of his hands. His backpack is packed next to him, along with a second bag holding everything he needs to work remotely, but there’s a major possibility that he won’t be working much longer. Right now, being fired is the last thing he needs, but at least it would take the weight off of his shoulders. Just a little bit.

Slowly, Jack looks up, and forces a strained smile when he sees the concern written all over Medda’s face. He stands up, though his body feels heavy, and she’s at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around him to help him, steady him. “Jackie- hun, how long has this…?”

“Mama, let’s just… I… I’ll talk, I promise, but right now…” Jack trails off. He has so many thoughts swimming in his head, but he can’t bring himself to say any of them. Not here, not now.

Though Medda’s expression tells Jack something different, she nods. “Okay, baby, it’s okay. We can- we can talk about it when we get home, let’s just… Let’s get you home,” She whispers, carefully handing Jack his bag. He takes it and puts it on, and before he knows it, they’re in the car, navigating their way through New York traffic.

Jack’s curled up in the seat. His head is resting against the window, body curved just slightly so he could fit the way he wanted to, and his eyes are shut and his arms are loosely draped around himself and he feels weaker than he’s ever felt before- both physically and emotionally, if he’s being honest.

He doesn’t say anything on the ride home, either- only shakes his head when Medda asks if he’s hungry, and nods when she asks if he’s eaten within the last twenty-four hours. Other than that, the ride is silent, save for music softly playing on the radio, but even that’s too much for Jack after a few minutes.

By the time they reach Medda’s apartment, Jack is nearly shaking, though he’s unsure why. He climbs out of the car, grabs his things, and follows Medda up to her floor with his head down and his hood up. She unlocks the door, takes his bags, and sets them down on the floor before turning toward him. Slowly, she rests her hands on Jack’s shoulders, looking into his eyes with a soft frown. “We can talk about all of this when you have more energy, okay, baby? It don’t gotta be right now. All I want you to do right now is go rest. Lie down. Sleep, Jackie, and then we can have dinner and talk it out, just like old times, okay?”

Jack takes a deep breath and nods, then bows his head. He gulps as she presses a soft kiss to his forehead, and then her arms are around him, hugging him softly, gently, and Jack wants to sink into it, but he instead nods his head and steps around her. He looks at her over his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. “Thank you, Mama,” He whispers, then hurries to the guest bedroom- his old bedroom.

Jack lies down under the blankets and catches his breath, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment, before sitting back up to discard his hoodie. He stretches his arms out, and that’s when he sees it.

There, on his wrist, in red ink, is a message that reads, _“I hope you’re okay. I’m thinking about you.”_

If Jack cries himself to sleep just minutes after seeing the messy handwriting, then it’s no one’s business but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hh. i love jack sm. i love this sm. i hope yall are loving this sm !!


	3. and i don't wanna be modern art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you encouraging me to ruin my life?”
> 
> “Why are you stopping yourself from being happy?”
> 
> That stops Jack in his tracks.

Four hours.

Jack slept for four hours.

Now, Jack isn’t necessarily one to take naps, and he hasn’t been sleeping well recently anyway, so four hours… It’s big. Bigger than it should have been, really, but he feels rested when he wakes and that hasn’t happened in days. He feels like he’s just fully woken up after days and days of haziness, of cloudy vision, of exhaustion and anxiety and for the first time, Jack can take a breath and feel… better.

Not normal, because there’s still nothing normal about his situation, but better. And better is good, right? Maybe he just needed to get out of the house. Maybe he just needs some time being somewhere comfortable, somewhere familiar, like Mama’s house. Maybe that’s what he needs- a pep talk from someone who won’t judge him, someone who is happy to have him around, someone who has seen him at his worst and still cares enough to be there.

Because Mama Medda has seen him through a lot. She’s the one by his side at the hospital after his... incident after freshman year of college. She’s the one who picked him up from rehab and helped him through those first few weeks of summer when he felt like everything was crumbling, crashing around him, and all he wanted to do was reach for a pill bottle and numb it all out. She’s the one who took him out of those shitty foster homes and adopted him, chose him, chose to love him and help him and raise him.

And now… this.

Jack feels a pang of guilt in his chest. Mama doesn’t deserve this. She deserves rest after years of putting up with Jack’s shit. Admittedly, he’s been a lot better the past few years- he has a steady job and his own income and he’s normally a pretty happy person- but maybe, just maybe, this little dip in the road is what he needs in order to get back on top. Maybe he needs a reality check like this more often, so it doesn’t all hit at once.

As Jack sits up, that thought is at the forefront of his mind, until he glances down and sees that handwriting on his wrist again. It’s messy, but also delicate, and he’s certain that whoever’s handwriting it is looks much better on paper. Even now, it’s better than Jack’s own chicken scratch, but that’s not exactly saying much. He does inspect it, though- the red ink, the way they cross their T’s, the way some of their letters connect in this weird but endearing half-cursive-half-print thing they have going on. The thought brings a soft grin to Jack’s face, which surprises even himself; he hasn’t exactly been one for smiling recently.

Although he’s feeling a little more excited about the prospect of meeting his soulmate, though, Jack knows that he has a few harsh discussions to get through before that happens.

Jack slowly swings himself out of bed, wincing as his stomach growls loudly, but he’s not really surprised. A quick glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table tells him that it’s 7:46 P.M., so it’s been… about sixteen hours since his last meal.

Knowing Mama, though, she’s probably already cooked.

A trip to the kitchen confirms this to be true.

Jack walks in slowly, mostly because he’s still so lagged down with sleep, and quietly clears his throat when he sees Medda on the phone. She looks back at him and he gives a little wave, which makes her smile softly. “Hannah, hon, can I call ya back? My son’s stayin’ over for a few days, and he just got here,” Medda says softly, and Jack knows it’s a lie, but he also knows that Medda would never tell anyone any information about his personal life without permission. There are a few more goodbyes to be said, but she soon hangs up and places her phone on the counter, gesturing for Jack to sit at the table. “Sit down, Jackie, I got it.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asks as he eyes the food in the kitchen, but he sits after Medda’s insistent nod. “It looks really good.”

Medda nods with a proud smile, bringing a dish of what looks to be chicken to the table. “It’s a new recipe. Got it from Jacobi's, so you know it’s gonna be good!”

“Damn, is he given’ out recipes now?” Jack asks as he reaches to grab some silverware, though he soon stands up. “Hey- let me help,” Jack says with a huff, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes from one of her hands as she carries salad in with the other. He places it on the table, walking back into the kitchen to grab two glasses- water for himself, and sweet tea for Medda. 

“You stubborn boy,” She chastises with a click of her tongue, but sits down, waving her hand as Jack comes back in. “Anyway, now, I don’t know if he gives his recipes to _all_ of his customers, but he gives them to his favorites. I just so happen to be one of ‘em, baby.”

“Oh? And this isn’t because he likes you?” Jack says with a smirk as he sits back down, then smiles wide as Medda slaps his shoulder. “I was just teasin’, Mama. He probably has a soulmate anyway.”

“Well… his wife passed before I adopted you, so it’s been a while,” She says slowly, taking a pointed sip of her sweet tea. “And, well… Who knows what could happen?”

Jack stares at her for a few moments, then makes a pleasantly surprised face as he nods. “Okay. Yeah, okay. Let me know when the wedding is.”

“Jack Francisco Kelly!”

Jack backs up and laughs loudly as he sinks into his chair, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m kiddin’! I’m just jokin’ around, Mama, calm down!”

Medda considers this for a moment, and slowly puts down her fork, which had been previously pointed in Jack’s direction. “Okay, I’ll let you have a pass this time… Now, get your food and eat ‘fore it all gets cold. That won’t be my fault if it happens, Cisco.”

“So much for unconditional love,” Jack mutters with a teasing grin, but he slowly sits back up and gets his food. He doesn’t get much- he still doesn’t have an appetite- and he eats slowly, because this is the most food he’s had in days, but about twenty minutes pass and he has a fairly empty plate.

Once he’s done, he does the dishes. It was one of his chores as a teenager, and he still does it whenever he comes over- usually at least once a week. Vaguely, there’s a nagging thought in the back of his mind, asking why he couldn’t even do his own dishes at home, but this… this is different, right? This is for Mama, not for himself.

He knows that kind of thinking is unhealthy, but he can’t help it.

Jack finishes the dishes up a few minutes later, and once he’s done, he joins Medda where she’s seated on the couch. She looks up at him with a sad smile and reaches for the remote, turning the volume on the TV down a few notches. “Are you good to talk now, hun?”

There it is. For a few moments, Jack feels as though his throat has closed up, but then he remembers the happiness he felt in the dining room and he’s suddenly aware that he can’t run from this. Not anymore. “I… Not really, but I- I want to.”

Medda nods. “Okay. Well, we can start slow, alright? How long have you been feeling like this?”

It takes Jack a moment to come up with a definitive answer. “Well… I’ve, uh, felt kinda off for about a month now, but I woke up, like, four days ago, and I just… I couldn’t move. Like- Like, I could, but it felt like it took so much out of me just to do that, and I just remember… crying, for no reason. I had to call into work, Mama. My boss heard me crying on the phone.”

“That’s alright, Jackie. It’s their own fault if they think any less of you for that.”

“I know, it just… it just made me feel nervous, y’know?” Jack bites his lip as he brings his knees to his chest, rubbing his forehead.

Medda nods, then brings her own legs up. She pulls Jack closer, running her fingers through his curls with a sigh. “So, is this all just… random chance? Or is anything else happening?”

Jack shrugs, relaxing against her side. This used to happen a lot, as a pre-teen; he remembers nights when he would have his outbursts, violent or not, and Medda would hold him and calm him and make him feel safe. It’s an odd feeling now, but he’s grateful for it regardless. “...I just feel so lost,” Jack admits with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if I like my job anymore. My apartment is small as hell and it’s so- so _confining_ and it feels like I never left my dorm room.”

“Well, if you need someplace to stay, you can move back in…”

“That’s the opposite of what I need right now,” Jack whispers, then shuts his eyes. “I feel like- like everyone else has this whole ‘adulting’ thing down but me. I don’t- I don’t know how to function, and I don’t know when the- when everyone else just- just changed! Everyone else is grown up now, and they have jobs and soulmates and- and fuckin’ Tony and Al have a _kid,_ Mama, they have a _kid,_ and I still struggle with saving money and paying bills and I’m just- just constantly so bored and I miss hangin’ out with everyone, but everyone has big, adult lives, and I just…” Jack pauses for a few moments, steadying his breathing, before covering his face. “I miss bein’ able to just… live, and not have to worry about anything but who’s house I was gonna wake up in the next morning.”

“Jackie, look at me,” Medda says softly, after a few moments of consideration.

Jack looks up. He meets her eyes, and there’s a curious look on her face. She then takes a deep breath. “Jack, when I adopted you, do you… remember how you would always try to do everything around the house? Chores, laundry, even cooking?”

“I do,” Jack says softly, because it’s true. Even on days when he felt like he wanted to scream and cry and break a window- and on the days when he actually _did_ one of those things- Jack always tried to maintain the house. He would be fifteen and trying to cook full meals, do laundry, clean and mop and do dishes and wash the car and do _everything,_ because, well… that’s what he was used to. That’s what it usually took to survive.

Medda nods, and purses her lips. “...You were trying to run the household at a young age, Jack. Do you want to know why I was never angry at you when you came home high, or when you had a run in with the police, or when you crashed the car because you were tipsy?” She pauses, looking at him, and sighs. “It’s because I knew that… that you were going to make mistakes. Every teenager makes mistakes, and maybe I should have disciplined you more than I did, that’s on me, but- but you… you deserved the opportunity to make those mistakes. Not because you were a bad kid, but because… Jackie, when you moved in, it felt like I’d adopted an adult. I didn’t see you have fun or be happy for a long, long time, because you always looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Jack gulps. “I don’t understand,” He admits quietly.

Medda smiles at him, that kind, caring smile she’d given him so many times before, but now it feels different. She thinks for a moment, choosing her words carefully, before reexplaining, “You didn’t act like a kid when I adopted you. You felt like you had so many responsibilities, Jackie, and I didn’t want that to be the case. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to work so hard to be loved. You… You lost years, _years,_ of your childhood because of everything that your father put you through, and those foster families treated you like a _worker,_ Jack, not like a kid. You didn’t get to _live_ until you were at least seventeen.” 

She turns, taking his hands in her own. “You missed out on your childhood. It’s okay to still want adventure and fun now! For Christ’s sake, Jack, you’re only twenty-five. You’re _young._ You don’t have to be successful right now- no, you don't have to be successful _ever,_ as long as you're happy! You can be as wild as you want, baby, as long as you take care of yourself. So… If you don’t like your job? Quit. Find somethin’ new. Find somethin’ you enjoy. You don’t like your apartment? Move out, Jackie, it’s that simple. You’re always more than welcome to come home while you search for- for a new life, hun, and I’ll be here every step of the way. That’s what Mamas are for,” Medda whispers, and there's this huge smile on her face, and her eyes are so wide and excited and Jack hasn’t seen her like this in years.

Jack gulps hard and quickly looks away, blinking rapidly. “Mama, I-- Thank you, for, uh, all of that, but I can’t just--”

“Why not?”

“Because I have work, and--”

“We both know you aren’t happy there.”

“But I can’t quit, because then I’d have no money, and--”

“You could live here, rent free, until you figure everything out--”

“Why are you encouraging me to ruin my life?”

“Why are you stopping yourself from being _happy?”_

That stops Jack in his tracks. He takes in a shaky breath and looks at her, and she has this knowing look in her eyes. “You deserve happiness, Jack, no matter what that looks like. I know that it won’t fix everything, but… I mean, look at you now! You’re talking, and, baby, you laughed earlier. You smiled again. I know you want to be independent, but… sometimes, we all need a little company for a bit until we feel like ourselves again, and that’s alright.”

Silence, for a few long moments.

The gears are turning in his brain. Leaving would be extremely freeing, and Jack could focus on himself without worrying about rent, or food, or his medications. Maybe he could start that comic he’s been wanting to do, and he could make his own website and do commissions and sell prints and he could finally just… feel good again, and do what he wanted to with his art, and he wouldn’t be alone…

Slowly, Jack nods. “Okay.”

Medda raises a brow. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Jack repeats, and takes in a deep breath, sitting up straighter. “Okay. I’ll- I’ll quit, and I’ll move back in, and-- are you sure you ain’t tired of me? You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“Well, son, it’s either you, or a dog.”

“But the building doesn’t allow animals.”

“Exactly.”

Jack looks at her for a few moments, before they both break into soft laughter. Already, Jack feels like some of the heaviness in his chest has been relieved. He’s still a little unsure, but moving back home sounds better than the alternative right now, and he shouldn’t be embarrassed by that, right? 

Medda looks at him again, and there’s this proud smile on her face, one that makes Jack feel instantly better about his decisions. She hugs him for a few moments, before pulling away. “We can talk logistics in the morning, but right now, I think we both could use a movie night. What are you feeling, hm?”

“Uh… Romcom?”

“Atta boy,” She says with a smile, then reaches for the remote. “Go make some popcorn, there’s some in the cabinet. I’ll get everything set up.”

Two hours and one showing of _A Knight’s Tale_ later, Jack is in his room again, staring up at the ceiling- but he feels… He feels good. Not perfect- no, he still has a long way to go before he feels ‘normal’ again, but he feels calmer, feels like he can breathe a little easier. 

Only when he’s getting ready for bed does he remember the writing on his wrist- that messy handwriting that says, “I hope you’re okay. I’m thinking about you.” He slowly pulls his sleeve up, gulping while reading it over, and he walks over to the bag with his art supplies, pulling out the first marker he can find. He thinks for a long time about what he should write. He wants to be truthful, but doesn’t want to put any pressure on his soulmate…

Biting his lip, he starts writing.

_“going through a lot rn, but thanks! hope ur ok too”_

He’s not expecting the reply, but he watches with a pounding in his chest as the words start to appear.

_“if u need to talk, i’m here.”_

But the writing doesn’t stop. No, not until Jack is staring at a phone number written on his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE MORE UH. SOULMATE AU-ISH  
> i just really didn't want to rush into it bc mental health can't be cured by having a significant other y'know ??
> 
> I HOPE YALL ARE LIKING THISSSSSS


	4. but i only got half a heart to give to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven digits.
> 
> One area code.
> 
> There, written on his wrist, is Jack’s gateway to… the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yknow how gays have Deep Conversations 2.5 seconds after meeting each other? yeah <3

Seven digits.

One area code.

There, written on his wrist, is Jack’s gateway to… the rest of his life.

He’s much more apprehensive about it then he should be, but, well, what can he say? He’s nervous. He’s scared. He knows that they aren’t ever going to come back from this if Jack actually calls the number, but… Well. Part of him wants to do it.

Part of him wants to do it so he can get it over with. So he can finally get a little bit of his anxiety under control, so he can solve the mystery of who’s going to be the one he falls for, the one he’s ‘made’ for. Soulmates have always been… tricky. Sometimes things don’t work out, which Jack doesn’t really understand, but it’s whatever, right?

He just hopes that what he has with his soulmate- this person, who was somehow bold enough to write down their phone number- works out in the end.

Jack doesn’t know if he can take another heartbreak.

Another part of him wants to ignore it, though. He wants to roll over in bed and go to sleep- hell, he has half the mind to just put his hoodie on and hide, hide from the number, but Jack can’t do that. Not after his soulmate has been desperately trying to reach him the last few days.

So, Jack grabs his phone, and adds the number under the name ‘soulmate’. He’s shaky, that much is true, but he can’t quite tell if he’s shaky because of nerves, or… or if he’s shaky because he’s excited. Because, well, that’s what Jack is. He’s excited.

So excited, in fact, that he sends the first text without a second thought. 

_To: soulmate_  
_heyyy, it’s your soulmate, lmao_

Okay, maybe that was a little straightforward, but... Well, judging by the three dots that show up on screen, it's simple, but effective.

_From: soulmate_  
_Oh, wow, i wasn’t expecting you to actually text, lol. How are you feeling?_

_To: soulmate_  
_ehh, it’s just been a rough week, don’t worry. how are you?? sorry we haven’t talked in a while_

_From: soulmate_  
_Don’t apologize, it’s alright! We all get busy, i understand. I’ve been doing pretty well personally. There hasn’t been much going on._

Is it normal that Jack’s heart rate has doubled since the beginning of the conversation?

They’re just sending words on a screen, but somehow, this conversation already has Jack blushing- which is a feat on its own, because Jack Kelly doesn’t blush. He doesn’t get embarrassed or nervous; at least, not in this exact department. Now, Jack gets nervous a lot, but usually that’s a mental illness thing.

Not a “I want them to like me” thing.

Still, Jack feels bold, and Jack is already in a sort of destructive headspace- he’s been in one all week- so he isn’t surprising himself when he sends the next message.

_To: soulmate_  
_i’m really sorry if this is too forward, we don’t have to, but would you maybe… want to call? instead of text?_

Apparently this is the right thing to ask, because seconds later, Jack’s phone is vibrating in his hand. He sucks in a deep breath, staring at the screen for a few long moments, before he throws caution to the wind and answers the call. He’s quick to bring his phone to his ear, but he doesn’t speak.

He can’t speak. Not first, at least. He can hear soft breathing on the other end of the line and it sends a shiver down Jack’s spine, and he can tell that- whoever it is- must be just as nervous as he is. Slowly, ever so slowly, Jack lets out a breath, and quietly says, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Jack hears immediately- a soft, gentle voice, one that belongs to a man. Jack’s eyes widen just slightly, but there’s a wide grin on his face.

Jack can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, lying back in the bed. “Wow, I-- Hi! I… I can’t believe I’m actually talkin’ to you…”

“I know, right?” He says, and Jack feels his heart pounding. “It’s- Wow, it’s really nice to talk to you... Oh! Uh, I-- I’m David. David Jacobs.”

“David…” Jack whispers, and suddenly, a soft giggle leaves his throat. “David. I like that,” Jack says with a grin, and gulps. “My name’s Jack Kelly.”

“Jack? I like that,” David teases, and Jack feels his face heat up. “Are you-- Are you from New York too? I just- your accent, I’m… assuming.”

“Actually, I am,” Jack confirms, and bites his lip. “I’ve been all over. I, uh, grew up in Washington Heights, and then I lived in Harlem, and… Queens, for a bit, and now I’m, uh, in the lower east side.”

“Oh, I used to live in that area! My family is Jewish, so… Y’know. Big Jewish community around there,” He trails off, but clears his throat moments later. “Which- heh- I assume you already knew, ‘cause you live there… I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, no, don’t apologize! It’s fine, no worries,” He says with a soft smile. Distantly, Jack realizes that he’s known this little piece about David’s life for a long time, which makes his cheeks flare up. He remembers David writing ‘Happy Hanukkah’ on his wrist during the holiday season, to which Jack would always write back ‘Merry Christmas,’ because, truthfully, he didn’t know if it was wrong or not. He remembers seeing words in another language scribbled on his palms sometimes, too- and once, when Jack actually thought to do it, he looked them up on Google Translate and found that they were in Hebrew. Now that he connects the dots, Jack feels embarrassed for not putting two and two together beforehand.

“Good,” David chuckles, seemingly nervous, and it makes Jack’s heart melt. “So, you grew up in Washington Heights?”

“Mhm,” Jack clarifies. “My mamá grew up there. Her parents were immigrants from Mexico, so, y’know… they stuck there, and it’s where she met my dad. I lived there until I was, like, thirteen, I think.”

Thirteen, and then came the foster home in Harlem, and the one in Queens, and he spent those awful two weeks in the Bronx, before finally landing his ass back in Manhattan’s lower east side. It was always rough, moving back and forth so much, but at least he finally settled somewhere he liked. The lower east side is comfortable. Safe. And, sure, maybe his art would do better in SoHo, and, yeah, maybe he’s jealous of those huge apartments in Tribeca, but this is home. He likes it here. He likes that he knows most of the bodega workers around here by name, and likes that sometimes, the cats inside the stores will let him pet them because they know he’s safe. He likes that his little corner of the world isn’t too flashy. He likes that his studio apartment comes with a fire escape, and he likes that he can use that fire escape to paint and likes that he can sit on it with a cup of coffee and watch the people- the diverse, culturally rich people of New York- every morning.

He likes it here. He’s safe here.

He wonders if David felt that way when he lived here, too.

Jack is dragged away from his thoughts as he hears shifting on the other end of the call. He tilts his head, then gulps as he hears David’s next question. “I’ve been through that area a few times with some friends. It’s really nice,” David says, and Jack has to assume they’re still talking about the heights- that was their last topic of conversation, right? “Do your parents still live there?”

Ah. The kicker.

Jack considers lying, just for the sake of not having to explain his life circumstances, but… but if this is real- this whole soulmate thing, this bullshit that everyone has followed their entire lives, for centuries on end- then David wouldn’t judge. At least, Jack hopes he wouldn’t.

“Uh… no,” Jack says after a moment’s hesitation, before sucking in a deep breath. “My mom, uh, passed away when I was ten, and my dad… He got busted on drug charges when I was thirteen. I think he’s still in prison. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to him since I had to testify in court… I’m- Wow, sorry, that’s too much information--”

“No, hey, it’s okay, really,” David says quickly, and he doesn’t sound mad or upset- he sounds… reassuring. “Sorry for making assumptions, but- but thank you for telling me. I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that.”

“Eh, it doesn’t bother me anymore.” A lie. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t tell a lot of people all of that so soon.”

“Well, to be fair, it’s my fault for asking.”

“I mean- yeah, but I didn’t have to tell you my whole life story.”

“...And if I want to know it?”

Jack blinks. “What… do you mean?”

“What if I want to know your life story? I know that we- we just, um, started talking for real, but… Heh, I don’t know. I… I want to know everything. Everything you’re willing to say.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t have Jack choked up.

It takes him a few moments to respond, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I… I really don’t think you’ll want to know _everything.”_

David gulps, and says, “Try me.”

And, well, Jack has never been one to back away from a challenge.

Slowly, he takes in a deep breath. “...I grew up poor. We didn’t have a lot. My mom was sick and my dad was working two jobs, so from the age of six to thirteen, I took care of the house. My mom died of cancer because we couldn’t afford treatment, and my dad turned into a raging alcoholic and got fired from his jobs, so, of course, he started sellin’ weed, and eventually, he was sellin’ cocaine and heroin and all that shit. He’d, uh, slap me around sometimes too, but that wasn’t that big of a deal--”

“Abuse wasn’t a big deal? Wha--”

“Okay, let me rephrase-- it just… wasn’t a big thing to me, because it was normal, y’know? Looking back… I mean, it _fucked_ me up,” Jack admits with a huff, “but it wasn’t the worst he could have done. That's what I told myself, at least.”

David is silent for a few moments. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with all of that. That-- I can’t even imagine going through that.”

Jack bites his lip. “There’s more, but…”

“You can keep going, if you want to. If you- I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, I just- maybe it’s best to get all of this… out in the open at the beginning?”

“No, yeah, I totally agree,” Jack replies, and he does. He does, because now that he’s talking about it, now that he has someone to talk about it with, he feels like a weight has been lifted off of his chest. He feels… free, and they won’t have to tiptoe around anything in the future. “Anyway, my dad got busted while he was in Brooklyn one night, and when the police came to get me from our place in the Heights, they saw, y’know, the bruises and… and the limp… It was a rough weekend, let me tell ya. Since I didn’t have any next of kin who were able to take care of me, I was, uh, put into the foster system. Stayed in a few shitty group homes, and, uh, some of ‘em were almost worse than my homelife, so that was… fun,” Jack lets out a heavy sigh, “but then I was adopted by my mom, when I was, uh, fifteen. She took me in, got me in a good school, and helped me figure out what I wanted to do in life, y’know?”

“She sounds amazing.”

“Oh, she’s a gem,” Jack says with a soft smile. “I’m actually at her place now. She’s lettin’ me stay here for a few days, since…”

“Since it’s been a rough week,” David finishes for him, softly, and Jack can hear that everything he’s saying- everything he’s been saying- is genuine. “Do you… mind if I ask why it’s been so rough?”

Jack gulps hard, and slowly closes his eyes as he clutches the phone tighter in his hand. “Well, uh, backstory, I- I was diagnosed with, uh, really bad depression and PTSD and shit when I was younger. I… I know this is gonna sound bad, so just- Just bear with me,” Jack winces, and he takes in a few breaths. “When I was a- a freshman in college, I was, um, really reliant on pills? Not reliant. Addicted,” Jack clarifies, and he brings the phone away from his ear for a moment, just so he doesn’t have to hear David’s reaction, if he has one. He soon brings it back, though, and runs a hand over his face. “That’s why I never… Responded to any of, y’know, your writings and stuff. I was so… high on pills that I didn’t even know what day it was most of the time, let alone why I had writing on my skin.”

“Jesus,” David whispers, and Jack feels like he can’t breathe.

“I-- I know. I’m not proud of it, but I swear I’m better now, I’m sorry--”

“Wait-- No, I’m not- I’m not upset at you or anything, I’d never judge anyone for something like that,” David clarifies, and Jack hears rustling again, like he’s sitting up. “I just didn’t- I didn't know you were struggling so hard. I’m sorry for not trying to contact you sooner.”

“If you tried back then, I would’ve ignored it,” Jack says slowly, and rubs his arm. “I don’t even know if I’d remember you existed, as bad as that sounds, but I was… I was really fucked up for over a year.”

"Did," David pauses, and Jack can hear him gulp. “Did you ever…”

“Overdose?” Jack offers, and David doesn’t say anything. “I did. By accident, but- but I did. After that, y’know, I went to rehab, and I saw a therapist, and it helped. A lot. It was really fuckin' rough, but I’ve been sober for about five years now. That’s- that’s another reason why I’m at my mom’s. My mental health right now isn’t the best, and, uh, I just… feel less likely to- to relapse if I’m, y’know. Not alone.”

“Jack? I’m really proud of you.”

“You-- What?”

“I’m proud of you. Jack, just because we’re only just talking- _actually_ talking- for the first time tonight doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you. I mean,” David pauses, and lets out a little laugh, “You were, believe it or not, one of the only people I talked to as a kid. I mean, those nights when we’d just stay up and talk about, well--”

“--The most random shit,” Jack chimes in with an airy giggle.

“Exactly! Like… I don’t know if you remember this, but I _distinctly_ remember watching you write a paragraph on why the red Power Ranger was the best, and you wrote it in--”

“I wrote it in Sharpie,” Jack recalls with a wide smile. “I wrote it in Sharpie, and I couldn’t wash it off, and I felt so bad ‘cause you were stuck with it too.”

“My dad thought it was hilarious,” David admits, and he laughs- an actual laugh, one that makes Jack’s heart skip a beat. “And then there was that time you... You drew that rose on your hand. I didn’t ever want it to fade away, y’know. I loved it. You were really good back then, and I can’t wait to see what you do now… Anyway, I say all of that to… to say this, I guess. I’m proud of you. Back then, I didn’t… have friends. Any. I was nerdy and weird and no one really liked me, but… you were different. I remember telling you everything, like how scared I was when my little brother was born, or how overwhelmed I felt with school and my parents and all of that, and… You helped. And you listened. I never forgot about that, and now I know that you did that when you were struggling, too. I remember being sixteen and having the worst panic attack of my life, and no one would help, but then… I wrote to you, and you did. You’re the only one who ever did that, Jack... I just- I want to say thank you. And that I’m proud of you for all you’ve been able to do despite your circumstances. I just wish I could have been there for you sooner.”

“...I never realized that all’a that would’a had such an impact on you,” Jack whispers, letting out a soft breath. “I just-- I knew what it felt like to not have anyone. I never wanted you to go through that, and- and I’m sorry that I’ve been so absent the last few years.”

David is silent for a few long moments, until he asks, “Can I see you on Friday?”

Jack is caught off guard for a moment, but he smiles wide and laughs, breathing out, “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be the end !! aaa !!
> 
> as always, come hang with me on tumblr !! @we-are-inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feel free to connect with me in the comments or on tumblr !! my url is @we-are-inevitable !!


End file.
